


Here With Me

by kimberley



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff and Angst, It involves a lot of celestial things, M/M, OT5 Friendship, POV Harry, Pining, Writer Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 17:39:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4714637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimberley/pseuds/kimberley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They fell in love beneath the diamond skies. </p><p>Louis was an understudy. Harry had a thing for words, trying to figure people out and the boy with blue eyes. When Niall broke his arm it was the best thing that ever happened. In their world anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here With Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liyumpeyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liyumpeyn/gifts).



> Helloo x
> 
> Title taken from Susie Suh x Robot Koch 'Here with me'. It vibes well with the entire story and really inspired it as a whole. It's beautifully sad and I suggest you give it a listen :) 
> 
> Based on the prompt: They're both in college. Louis is Niall's understudy and when Harry sees him in the coffee shop for the first time, he is stricken by how beautiful Louis is.
> 
> Enjoy, my darlings :) x

_"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same." - Emily Brontë_

-

He’s early, six minutes early to be exact. Which is perfect because he doesn’t like being late. That’s why he keeps his clock six minutes fast. And besides, it’s good manners to be on time.

As he sat there quietly waiting in the coffee shop just outside off campus, he listened to the dripping rain outside. He loved the sound of the rain, it inspires him, it makes him think much more clearly. It’s like the rain washes away any haze and fog that clouds his brain. There’s a term for lovers of the rain. Pluviophile? Maybe.

Ten minutes has passed. The coffee has gone slightly cold but it was still enjoyably warm. Harry looked timeless. Sitting in an eccentric coffee shop – because apparently every coffee shop is now adopting this new minimalistic-look-lamp-dangling-from-the-ceiling style- sipping on black coffee and looking out onto the showered streets. He looked as if he was the epitome of autumn.

In the coffee shop is where he first met Louis Tomlinson. The boy with sapphire blue eyes and eyelashes that could touch the clouds.

 

“Harry, right?” Louis said, questioned rather. His fingers fiddling with the hem of his thick black jumper.

Harry turned his head forward, touching the thick stem of his mug with his pale, long fingers. “Yeah, that’s me,” he answered in that slow murmur of his, smiling as he spoke, and sitting up straighter in the chair. “I take it you’re Louis then.”

The other lad nodded and pulled out a chair, hung his green jacket on the back of it and then set down, his elbows resting on the table. All the while, Harry’s stare lingered on him, and Louis was quite aware of that.

“Niall explained everything I have to do, once you finish writing the lyrics I’ll concoct a nice melody to go with it,” Louis said, looking at Harry, who was listening very carefully and who was already endeared by the boy’s accent.

It was tinkling and soft.

As they continued to talk over another round of coffee, Harry discovered that Louis is taking drama and music. They both came to conclusion that inside Niall’s body there is a five year old boy being held captive, because no nineteen year old with barley-their-biceps can do a push up on his knuckles. With _one_ arm.

“It’s horribly funny, I have no idea what he was thinking!” A loud laugh broke from Louis’ lips as he heard the words, nodding his head, because Harry was indeed very right.

Because, see, Niall is a vibrant chameleon. That’s really the only way to describe him.  He’s the type of person that is always surrounded with people and their laughter and chuckles. If auras exists, his would be the brightest. It would out shine the sun and the stars combined. No one gets tired of him. Everyone is drawn to him kind of like a moth to a flame. His smile is always sitting quietly in place, his skinny jeans are forever clinging to his spindly legs and his golden hair is always ruffled up in perfection.

Did he regret doing that push up? A little, it’s quite inconvenient at times. Is he happy that he got out of doing that assignment?  Fuck yeah.

**

It’s was a while later when Louis and Harry left the coffee shop and Louis arrived to his flat.

As soon as his feet were out of his damp black vans, they were marching down to Niall’s bedroom. “You’re a horrible person,” Louis said, opening the door wide open, not even bothering to knock. He has seen him naked multiple times, he’s not fazed by his nudity anymore.

“I know, it helps me sleep at night!” Is all Niall responded with, his eyes finding his laptop again.

“You could’ve at least warned me about his...” he stopped, hands flailing around his face trying to search for the word that was on the tip of his tongue but wouldn’t come out. “Grandeur.” Yeah, that was it.

Niall laughed, his eyes still fixated on his laptop even when his bedroom door was closed with an (accidental) slight force, which only broke another loud guffaw from the Irish. “If I told you, I would have spoiled the surprise.”

Louis wasn’t one to deny beauty when he sees it and Harry was the most startlingly beautiful human Louis has ever seen. He was like a young Adonis. Endowed with deep green eyes that look as if they’re an entity of their own. The beauty that that boy possessed was ... overwhelming.

**

Sundust floated around the room, sunbeams peeking from behind his red curtains that were dancing around slowly with the morning breeze that was coming in from the ajared window and giving the room a marvellous crimson glow.

Harry woke up with the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the familiar smell of sweet nicotine that seemed to linger in every corner of their flat. ‘It gives it another shade of cool’ that’s what Zayn always says and it, well, really does.

He slowly padded down the narrow hall way, wooden floor groaning under his bare feet. They were as tired as Harry was that morning (thank God it was Friday already).

“Morning curly,” Zayn said, chipperly, _weird_ , never turning to look at Harry. “The water is still hot if you want some tea.”

Harry walked back to his roommate’s room when he heard him.

Zayn was wearing a pair of faded grey sweatpants that hung low on his thin hips, a mug of coffee by his side and a cigarette in his hand, and he was just staring outside. He’s used to seeing Zayn like this, just leaning on an open window with a cigarette between his long, fine-pointed fingers. He was a vision. He was the things he painted; art.

“I don’t feel like drinking a warm beverage on such a fine morning,” he responded, voice still rough, and then turned around and walked to the kitchen. He poured some milk on his cereal and sat down on a chair, one leg resting on the one in front of him.

Mornings at their flat are always like this. Always quite. They both like the silence, it gives them room to think. To gather themselves for the day. They find silence to be peaceful. And it’s always like that; Zayn by the window and Harry sitting on a chair at the table. They like it. It’s nice.

Zayn walked in the kitchen, the smell of smoke trailing behind him. He leaned on the countertop with his arms crossed over his bare chest still sipping the remnants of his coffee, “How did it go last night?”

“It was good. Uh...we talked...we talked a lot. Talked about what we need to do for the song since we’re changing it to a piano tune now.” He stopped for a few moments after that, staring down at his empty bowl. “He’s- I don’t know, there’s something about him that is sort of enigmatic but he seems like a good bloke you know, he seems like he has a good head on his shoulders. It’s just this _thing_. He looks like he’s separated from himself and-he talks, and he laughs but his eyes... are distant, vague so to speak, they tell a completely different story.”

“Harry, you don’t have to do that, alright?” the words were spoken unhurriedly, unlike Harry’s whom his were emitted in a clutter. “You don’t have to try and figure out people that you barley know.”

He sighed before getting up and stretching his never ending limbs. “Yeah, I’ll try to not do that,” he chuckled, and then placed his bowl and spoon in the sink and walked back to his bedroom.

He tried to stop but it went nowhere. He always tried to figure people out, to figure out their motives because it gave him a sort of secure feeling. It’s what he does to try and prevent provocation.

***

_“Are you free right now? Cuz if you are then meet me next to the giant tree.”_

Louis Tomlinson flashed across the screen. With a steady thrum of his heart he swipes the message. _It’s just a message, what the hell styles?_ Flited through his mind back and forth but to no avail his heart was still going a mile a minute.

After writing and deleting, writing and deleting he settles on a simple _“Yeah the one in the middle. Meet you there in 10.”_  And then it vibrates. He unlocks it and it’s an emoji of footprints. ...Okay.

Louis was already there when Harry arrived. Sitting down on the green grass with the crunchy leaves. They were Harry’s favourite thing about autumn, he always goes out of his way to step on them. There’s something about the sound they make that always makes him think of a steaming mug of hot chocolate and crackling fire. It’s a pleasant thought, isn’t it?

But Louis was there looking ever so ethereal with his legs crossed in front of him and his green jacket fanning out behind him. This isn’t what happens normally. _This_ never happened actually. Harry was never one to allow himself to get attached to people that he barely knows, so this is a chink in his armour. He stirred his mind away as soon as it lingered on someone for more than a few minutes and now here he is walking down to meet Louis. Louis who he only really knows for a few hours and a few glances from the corridors and classes but who already got his heart racing by just texting him. So yeah ... it’s all under control.

“The grass is damp!”

“Was tired of waiting on me legs.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, she kept going on and on about this book that we must read because, and I quote, ‘It’s a marvel, you’ll wake up feeling inspired and feeling new.’”

“Then you should start reading it as soon as possible to get that new look. How about we go to the coffee shop, it’s bloody freezing out here, pick something up from there and then go to my flat,” Louis suggested, sitting up and dusting his faded black jeans. “Niall’s their too.” He added.

“Sounds good to me.”

“It’s a beautiful day, innit? The sun is just about peeking out and a gentle breeze. Nothing too brutal,” Louis commented offhandedly as they were making their way to the coffee shop. 

Harry looked up at the sky, eyes squinting, because that big yellow ball was still blinding even though it was covered by a blanket of clouds. “It really is,” he mused, averting his gaze down to their feet. They were walking in synchronization. Black Vans and leather boots.

It really was a beautiful day.

Drinks in hands and feet padding through the cobbled streets, they made their way to Louis’ flat. Once inside, Harry looked around the decently small apartment. It was fairly similar to the one he and Zayn are sharing but it had more character to it. There was a three seater, grey sofa in the middle of the room with a Niall Horan sprawled on it, a television with a playstation hooked up to it, opened beer bottles scattered on the long birch coffee table. It was the epitome of a boy’s apartment. But, but! There were no strange smells just the scent of a building. Which is good.

“Niall we have guests!” Louis shouted jovially, as he closed the door behind them.  

The Irish boy rose up from the couch at that and walked the short distant between him and Harry.

“Harry, mate, how’ve you been?” he asked, face beaming with a smile while welcoming him in a one armed hug.

“I’ve been alright. How’s the hand?” asked Harry, with a flick of the wrist towards it.

“It’s inconvenient at times but it also got me out of that fucking ridiculous project and gave me extra time for my other assignments. I’m tellin ya, having a broken hand in college is a blessing.”

 

After another unsuccessful and embarrassing round of Fifa, some beers and borrowed time, they all decided to go out together, - being freshmens in college they made a lot of acquaintance but a few friends- Niall called up his friend, Ed who said he’ll bring his roommate ‘round, Louis is coming of course given that he was the one who initiated the idea and Harry is bringing Zayn.

Set on meeting them at the bar around ten he bid his goodbyes and walked back home. Harry toed off his shoes and then sat on the couch next to his roommate. They talked a bit about what they should wear, because yes boys do that too! And then Harry picked up his backpack from the floor and slithered to his room.

A small, simple room with a big window and a desk that is a little bit mangling but still serves the job. A double bed in the middle of the room and a closet that houses his numerous piles of black jeans and blouses. It was good enough for Harry.

He placed his bag on the floor and brought his laptop on the bed with him.

" _There is nothing to writing_. _All_   _you_   _do is_   _sit down at a typewriter and bleed_."

So that’s what he did, he opened the document where he was writing his story and he bled. Harry wants to become a writer, a real one. The writer who gets published and becomes deemed as a classic writer in hundred years. Harry wants to be that. It’s not just that he wants to get published, it’s a passion. He loves words – actually he's in love with words. It fascinates him the way words can be placed next to each other and create a beautiful quote or a meaningful sentence. He likes to believe that words are alive, because they see faces and emotions and smiles and tears and so then they make up their own stories. There’s another story within the one in the book, the one the words have written. He wants to leave words behind.

But, yeah. Anyway. In conclusion he’s an aspiring writer.

***

It’s was a quarter to ten.

Zayn closed the door behind them and they walked silently the short distance to the bar they’re all going to meet. It’s going to be packed with other students for sure, given that it’s a Friday, and that it’s the only decent, slightly cheap bar in the area.

When they arrived they found Niall and two other lads – one with ginger hair and colourful tattoos on his arm and the other with short brown hair and a charming smile. But there was no Louis.

Niall beckoned them over. Harry wasn’t sure if the Irish was drunk already, but judging by the way his eyes are slightly glossy and his cheeks are tinged with pink he assumes yes.

They sat down on the wooden stools. “Lads, this is Liam-” patting the one with the brown hair on his shoulder, -“and this is Ed” he gestured to the ginger one who was sitting next to Liam.

They shook their hands. Formalities, alright?

“Louis is coming a bit late had a thing to do he said,” Niall told them before downing another shot of vodka.  And oh, that’s alright he’s still coming. He’s coming and he should really stop feeling this droopy, saggy feeling – disappointment‘s the word. He really needs to stop.

They drank and talked and ordered another round of shots and an hour has passed until a blue eyed boy with golden hair showed up at their table.

Taking a seat on the stools and fluffing his hair back from his eyes. He spoke with that twinkling accent of his. “Got a bit caught up sorry mates, this round’s on me.” And so they drank again. The only purpose for Saturday is to cure Friday’s hangover.

A few drinks and hours later they were dancing, loud laughs escaping their mouths and sloshing their drinks all over their shirts and looking like a right mess. 

It’s then when it happens.

One of the other boys did something that a body half filled with liquor will definitely find it funny. They were all laughing and bending over.

Harry’s head was bent backwards, laughing up at the flashing lights, when he felt hands on his chest and hair tickling his neck. He looked down and it was Louis.

Louis, it was Louis.

Louis with his head tucked in the soft space of Harry’s neck and chuckling softly.

For a moment, he let himself drown in the moment.

Then, he moved back, downed the rest of his drink in one go and never dared to look at Louis.

_Breathe, for Gods sake._

He drew in a deep breath of thick air. Louis was looking at him. He was looking at him with confused eyes.

He didn’t know why he moved back, he was not a stranger to the sense of touch. He misses having someone to hold when he’s lying sleepless at night, mind racing with thoughts that never seem to end. He misses it more than anything else but he’s also not mentally prepared to go through the pain that heartbreaks carries.

The rest of the night was spent in silent gazes as he looked over the lads having fun and when Liam told him to join them and to stop being miserable he only laughed. Was it really that noticeable?

His silent gazes lingered longer on Louis though. He watched him getting chatted up by pretty guys and being handed drinks and cigarettes at the bat of an eyelash. He didn’t know that Louis smokes, he also didn’t know that he was gay or – not straight.

That makes two of them, then.

Zayn knew that Harry was gay and he was an accepting and a loving roommate who loved to cuddle when he was tired yet sleepless. That sort of in-between before sleepiness kicks in.

Louis doesn’t really know why he placed himself in Harry’s space. Something just came over him. Not an urge or a need. Just a simple thought that sounded nice and harmless and ... just nice really.

He wasn’t laughing at something that the others did. He was laughing to himself about himself, about his life. He started college with the idea of focusing on his school and grades. But he’s drinking his Fridays away and watching the stars between veils of smoke instead. A proper student wouldn’t do that, a proper one will be devoting his Friday nights to be accompanied by highlighted words and scattered books. He’s young – only 19 years old – and he knows nothing about tomorrow so he drinks more.

***

 

_“You and me we’re bumper cars_

_The more I try to get to you_

_The more we crash apart_

_Round and round we chase the sparks_

_But all that seems to lead to_

_Is a pile of broken parts ...”_

Louis had to read it again. He had to read it again so he could search for the appropriate words. This- It’s so much more than beautiful, it’s breathtaking. He can see, can read, what’s between the scribbled lines that are written in elegant cursive. Somewhere deep within him, he knows that these words – this song, is about them. It has to be. Because they’ve been spending the last three weeks since they all went out partying together, just the two of them. You see, it all adds up. The lingering touches and the lingering stares and - and then they go back to being vague; creating space when the other is close, averting their eyes as soon as they meet the other pair. It’s all of this back and forth that’s so frustrating, because none of them are fools. They both know what they want and _fuck,_ they even flirt blatantly with each other. It’s just ... It’s so infuriating.

Taking a deep breath, he looked up and stared hard at Harry’s sitting figure. “It’s beautiful, curly.” He tried to put as much meaningfulness as he could convey in his words. “Poetically beautiful.” He smiled at Harry’s chuckle. “I will pelt out a piano tune and then I guess it’s finished.”

To Harry the words came easily. Unasked, unsought. They came bursting out of him like yellow sunrays and reflected upon a piece of paper in black ink.

“I never thought we would finish it this early,” said Harry, his voice giving out a smidgen of sadness on the last word, cold hands picking idly at the frayed twines of his ripped jeans.

And fuck he didn’t mean for it to come out that way. He wanted to say it more enthusiastically, more alive but apparently his voice cord has a mind of its own. How lovely.

Louis was looking out the small window, watching the afternoon blend into the evening and he came to the conclusion that today was not a good day for the world as the sky was too dark and miserable before he replied.

“Me neither.” Louis finally said.

And they left it at that.

**

“You need to go faster-” Laughed Harry, coming up besides Louis who was whisking eggs slower than an old lady with arthritis “- you need to go faster or else it just won’t be good.”

His fingers brushed Louis’ hand as he went to show him, they lingered there for a few seconds, enough for Louis to push back his hand against Harry’s.

Harry’s fingers wrapped nicely around Louis. “This is how you’re supposed to do it,” he said breathily, looking down at their moving, joined hands.

Louis hands are small and they fit Harry’s so painfully perfectly.

It feels nice.

It feels familiar.

The other lad coughed and after a beat or two he said, “So how long do this bad boys take to cook?” And the awkward tension left them as quickly as it came. That’s the thing with Louis, he knows how to turn things around when they get a bit too much.

“My cookies are warm and mellow not dangerous, and they only take nine minutes.”

“Of course they are, wouldn’t expect nothing of that sort from you.”

They stared at each other and then they laughed. Because what the fuck was that conversation. 

After Louis helped Harry mix together the ingredients, they placed them on trays and then they putted them in the oven to cook.

“Zayn’s coming soon,” Harry said, from where he was lying on the couch watching a horrible a show.

So, naturally that’s when his handsome roommate decided to show up.

The door opened and closed with that familiar slam that no matter how many times they tried to oil the hinges it was still hard to close.

“Babe, I’m home.”

At that, Louis turned his head slightly to the side, a confused look splattered across his face. Harry saw it, but he said nothing because Zayn always said things like that, out of habit really, but although he didn’t mention anything he still found the need to explain. Just because.

They all greeted each other and ate together and then they ended up sprawled all over the couch and floor again. College life was hard. The hardest. After nearly three hours of aimless chatter and shitty television shows tiredness crept its way up into the marrow of their bones and none of them wanted to move, but Louis had to because his flat was not this and Niall was probably already as sleep, given that it was one in the morning.

“I’m gonna grab my jacket,” said Louis, dragging out the last word into a yawn in which Harry found endearing and thought he resembled a baby deer.

He turned the lights on when he entered Harry’s room, to avoid breaking stuff and to protect himself from any avoidable injuries, but manly to avoid breaking stuff. Underneath his jacket there was a thick stack of paper lying on the desk. The first page said ‘Black Velvet’ and underneath ‘Harry Styles’. He knows that this was spying and that it was rude but flicking through the pages it confirmed what he thought. It was a manuscript. It had to be because there was number pages on the right hand corner and the words continued.

The song, the _lyrics_. That’s why they were so beautiful, so magnificent. Harry was a writer. And he was a good one at that.

He placed the papers down, pulled his jacket on and switched the lights off and left the room. The thought of what’s ‘Black Velvet’ is about lingering on his mind. The title itself sounds divine, the story could only be so much more than that.

“Goodnight Harry,” Louis said, turning around as he stepped down the small step that was in front of Harry’s door but turning back again when the other lad spoke.

“Goodnight, Lou.” He leaned forward, arms awkwardly outstretched as if he was going to pull Louis in a hug, which he _was_ going to but stopped. At last, he placed his arms back to his side, looking at Louis, who was just staring at Harry’s arms. Just looking with an unreadable expression on his face. So they stood there staring at each other, outside with the shining stars and the pale moonlight until one of them moved.

“We’ll meet again soon, yeah?” It was whispered so silently that Harry could barely hear it. Only the cobbled path and the dead leaves and Harry could hear it. He looked up at Harry after he said it, trying to search for something, for anything because Harry was so guarded sometimes that it was maddening but sometimes he lets every emotion paint his face and it was then when Louis could understand Harry, when he could see who Harry really was.

That moment was one of them. Harry’s face was split between confusion and happiness, joy maybe. His eyebrows were scrunched and his eyes glinting with hope. Louis could only assume the best.

Scratching his neck, a nervous habit of his, Harry replied, “Of course we will.”  His eyes flickered down to where Louis’ where pawing at the pavement and then up again to his eyes. “Very soon.”

Louis nodded, once, twice, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly, watching his breath as it faded into the cold night. “Alright,” he breathed out, nodded again and returned back the small wave Harry gave him and walked back to his apartment all the while thinking about nothing but Harry. Harry and his various moods, Harry and the lyrics, Harry and the stack of papers. Black Velvet. He saw words but only one sentence stuck in the corners of his mind.

_“You're not friends. You'll never be friends. You'll be in love till it kills you both.”_

That was it. That was the sentence that was splattered all over his brain. Those words resonated in his bones, taunted him. Made him think and feel and try to breath properly because those words were beautiful and sad at the same time. And they were Harry's. 

And so, Louis walked silently in the night back to his apartment, his hands tucked away in his pockets for warmth and the thought of seeing Harry again soon tucked safely in his mind.

 *

“You know that you should _really_ talk to him about all of this, right? And mind you, trying to supress whatever feeling – or feelings - you have for him is only going to make it worse with time. Don’t look at me that way you know that I’m right. It’s been dragging for far too long now and you’re both so stubborn around each other and the both of you are going to end up hurting. Just consider it, alright?” He heard Zayn say from where he was stood leaning on the wall next to the kitchen. Harry continued to look at him, absorbing every word.

“You’re the one who’s always right, aren’t you? The one who always figures it out. When the time is right. I will tell him when the time is right.”

Zayn smirked at that, got off the wall, bid his roommate a goodnights sleep and padded back to his room.

After filling a glass of water, Harry walked back to his own room and pulled open his thick, brown leather bound diary. He loved it, the leather was creased and worn and the edges were dented from where he holds the pages and the pages where coloured in the old yellow old books have. It was an old nest for his messy brain. Soon the pages where filled delicately with black ink. To Harry, writing was therapeutic. Writing was the best way he knew how to express himself because he wasn’t very good with talking.

 

***

 

October was spent partying whilst putting school on the back burner. November was filled with inked paper and highlighted definitions. The few day that has passed from December were spent drinking hot chocolate and watching Christmas films under thick blankets.

Exams where slowly coming to an end and soon they will have Christmas break.

Harry’s going to be spending his at his mums’ home, with his sister and step dad. They always watch Elf on Christmas eve and huddle under blankets and cushions and on Christmas day, they get up early go to the Christmas mass and then come back home and eat lunch, afterwards they bring their dessert to the living room and open the presents they bought for each other. It was a tradition of theirs.

Everyone was going to their parents so it would have been pointless to stay there all alone, and besides he wouldn’t want to ruin the tradition.

It has been three months since they got to know each other. Liam, Niall, Louis, Zayn and Harry are friends now, all of them. They text each other between classes and they are always over at each other’s apartments, sometimes crashing there when they become too tired to walk. They’re the best friends Harry could ever wish for.

Louis and Harry are progressing. That’s what Zayn says anyway, he observes them when they’re together and Niall reports back to Zayn when Louis tells him something about Harry and Ed reports back to Zayn when Harry says something about Louis. Everybody could see, even the guys that hang with them at the bar could see that sometimes they’re just going around in circles, tip toing around each other.

But they did progress. Louis spends a lot of time over at Harry’s apartment now, huddled up in Harry’s room or lounging on the couch. They sometimes watch a movie on Harry’s bed, and on the rare occasion Louis sleeps over. But it only happens when he’s exhausted by the world and just wants someone close to him, someone he can trust. And Harry knows that, Louis told him the first night he slept in his bed, so when Louis asks him if he can sleep in his bed Harry holds up the edge of the cover and drops it over them when Louis settles underneath it. It’s nice to have someone sleeping next to you, a presence on the other side of the bed when you wake up, the warmth of another body mixing with yours making the bed warmer and everything else feeling like it’s never going to be wrong. That wasn’t wrong, letting Louis sleeps over and sharing a bed was not wrong. It was only wrong when Harry’s feeling grew more and more the longer he stared at Louis’ sleeping figure with his hair sprawled out on the pillow, thin lips parted, and one of his hands tucked under his face.

He never regretted it. In the beginning maybe, but not now.

November really brought them close together. Harry would go over to Louis and Niall’s flat and studies there because the smell of paint causes his asthma attacks. They would usually end up alone, because when Niall becomes too jittery he would bid them goodbye, put on a jacket along with a paper’s boy hat and leave. Because that’s a thing now, paper’s boy hats, and even though the rest of them gave him shit about it he still wears it everywhere he goes. So then after studying they would usually go to the coffee shop and they would spent hours talking. They became less guarded, more attentive with each other. They leave their hands lingering and their fingers resting on the other one and they don’t tip toe around each other, not as much as they used to do anyway. They orbit around each other now.

***

_“Happy birthday, Louis Tomlinson.”_

_“That’s the most boring happy birthday msg I’ve ever received”_

A second later.

_“I wish you a crappy Christmas and a lousy new year.”_

_“That’s so nice of you, to spread joy around at this happy time of year.”_

_“Well...you know me, always trying to put a smile on dull faces and glitter their life with my presence.”_

_“Oh, yes absolutely. I need my beauty sleep. So goodnight Louis Tomlinson. Happy Christmas ‘n all that.”_

_“Goodnight, Harry Styles.”_

He smirked fondly as he reread the texts, every particle in his body feeling warm and giddy, before Harry turned off the lights in his old bedroom. 

***

When the break was over and they returned to school, something felt different.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” asked Louis, eyes looking over every surface of the room expect Harry’s figure in the middle.

Harry’s eyes where fixed on Louis, studying him, trying to see underneath, to see through, to see something, _anything._ But there was none. No traces of sadness, no traces of happiness. Nothing. There was just _emptiness_.

“Yeah, if you want to,” Harry said, slowly and carefully, eyes still searing into Louis’ figure.

And there, that’s it – Louis’ sad.

“Yeah,” Louis replied, voice faint and breathily, he then looked up in the other boy’s eyes, “Yeah, I want to.”

“Alright then.”

It was already past midnight and neither of them were asleep. Both on their backs, facing the ceiling, feeling the heat of each other’s hands that were side by side.

Harry turned his face around, watching Louis’ eyes blink and his chest falling and rising with every breath. And at that moment he looked so beautiful (not that he never looks beautiful because that would be a blatant lie), seeing him there, lying in his bed, bathed in the moon’s pearly light, hands twitching on his stomach and eyelashes fluttering slowly made him feel like he was already in love with this boy. This magnificent boy who was too beautiful, too big for this world.

“You’re staring.”

There’s a few moments of silence, Harry never replied and his stare never faltered, his mind racing with all of these questions. Questions that can only be answered from the boy lying quietly and small next to him.

So. He asked.

“Why are you sad, Lou?”

And it dropped like a boulder in the room, solid and loud and final. But Harry won’t take it back.

He watched as Louis’ fingers halted their movements, as his chest heaved a long breath, as his eyes shut tightly closed, as his lips parted in a sigh and as his face twisted for a brief moment before it was replaced by something soft.

Louis tilted his head in Harry’s direction, glanced over his face before tilting it back.

There was a thick blanket of tension hanging over the bedroom, swallowing them hole as Harry continued to stare at Louis, and Louis stared above him.

Another pause

“I’m not-“ Louis begun, then stopped. He shuffled up on the bed, resting his back against the headrest. “I’m not always sad, like, I feel happy and stuff the majority of the time, but sometimes things get too much, too quickly and I... I get overwhelmed? And, um, I don’t do well under pressure, never have. And everything will feel like it’s too much, like this world expects so much from me and I have so little to offer. I just...I wake up feeling sad and wishing to just forget about the stuff that I should do... I distract myself, am good at that, creating distractions. I don’t know what to do to make it go away and then.” He stopped and looked down to where Harry’s head is placed on the pillow.  When he didn’t hear Louis’ voice, Harry tilted his head upwards, green eyes meeting blue. “I become even sadder.” 

God, he’s feeling too much right now, too much. The last words pierced his heart, made his entire heart crack.

Harry straightened up and twisted his body sideways. He’s fingers itched to laced themselves with Louis’.

“You think too much Louis,” he sighed, averting his gaze to his fingers that were still itching too twine themselves with the ones lying motionless on the bed.

Louis looked at him. Looked at him so deeply that he could almost see the way Harry’s lip quivered slightly by his breath in the pearly light of the moon.  

“You think too much about everything. And it’s not good for you, it would never be good to live like that, always worrying, always thinking about the ‘what if’s’ and always getting lost in your distractions,” Harry said, in one breath with his brow furrowed whilst staring at the white duvet that’s being crumpled by his fingers. “Distractions are only filled with delusional joy to chase away raw fears.”

Louis sighed a chuckle, “You’re good with words curly, always finding the perfect one along the way, always.” He slid back down on the bed, turned on his side to look at Harry, who was still staring down at his hands, a gentle smile dancing on his ruby lips.

He slid down too, pulled the covers up to cover his upper half, and lied his head on his pillows, all the while looking at Louis.

Harry opened his arms, his thin sweater sliding up his arm as he did that. “Cuddle?”

He heard Louis’ chuckle, and even though he couldn’t see him because he was in front of the window, he knew that it was the type of chuckle that made the skin by his eyes crinkle and his face to light up, so much so that the sun tried to compete with it at day, and the stars tried to out shine it at night.

“You just want me to be close to you,” laughed the other boy, voice light and any traces of sadness that were laced in it before all gone, he inched closer to the awaiting, lithe arms. He placed his head on Harry’s chest, the sound of their heartbeats mixing in one. Harry’s hand that was wrapped around his shoulder held him closer, closer, closer, the other one was splayed on his chest.

“You make a good source of heat.” Harry said, his voice petal soft. “Goodnight, Lou.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

**

When they woke up, the next day, Harry made them coffee and pancakes for breakfast before Louis left to get ready for his classes.

After Louis left, Harry trudged back to his room. He looked over at the rumpled, white sheets on the bed and he was filled with adoration and softness and _love._ He was filled with fucking love, love for this one, magnificent boy. His heart felt like it was whole and it felt like it was soaring in the clouds. As he continued to look at the bed he remembered waking up in the middle of the night, looking down at the sleeping boy in his arms, his heart tugged a bit at that, just like it did last night. He remembered revelling in the sight that was Louis Tomlinson, how his eyelashes cascaded fine, faint shadows on his sharp cheeks, how his hair grazed Harry’s jaw softly, how his parted lips were touching the skin on his shoulder, making it burn, making it feel like he was going insane, because he wanted that, he wanted Louis, in every sense of the word, he wanted Louis’ lips on his and he wanted Louis’ lips on his neck, he wanted Louis’ hand to hold him down and he wanted them to engulf his own and he wanted him to be his, his and only _his_.

At last, he closed his eyes, inhaling a sharp breath and then he reopened them, looking out of his window. There was no sun today, just thick blankets of grey clouds and the sense of calm before the storm was hanging in every particle of the air. Good thing he didn’t have any classes today. He felt bed for Louis, though.

With the thought of Louis slithering around the corners of his mind and occasionally tugging at his heart, he lifted his laptop from the floor and spent half an hour scrolling through his social medias, catching up on what everyone’s been doing in the last couple of days, he opened his snapchat after that. 

A picture of Liam and Zayn lighted his screen.

What?!

It was from last night.

What?

Zayn told him he’s going out with his arty friends. Liam doesn’t do art, he do journalism. There’s no art in journalism.

They were on Liam’s sofa, with popcorn on Zayn’s lap and there was no Ed. Surely if Ed was there he would be included in the selfie, right?

This is interesting.

Very. Interesting.

He decided to ask Zayn what happened last night and that’s what he did when he saw him passing his bedroom door.

“Zaynie boy, come here.”

Zayn walked in, and sat down at the end of Harry’s bed, quirking an eyebrow.

“So... How was last night?” Harry asked him, a hint of amusement underlying his voice. Harry’s eye bore into Zayn’s and he knows when people are lying, he is studying psychology after all.

Zayn pulled his knees to his chest, crossing his wrists over them, “It was good yeah, had fun, for the majority of the time anyway.” He said with a quick roll of the eye and a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

Harry hummed, nodded his head and looked down at his hands, picking at his finger nails. “So no sofas were involved, no popcorn, no Liam Payne’s?,” he said, his smirk getting bigger with every word as he watched Zayn squirming and trying to hide his bashful smile. The fucker.

“I told him not to post that,” said Zayn, eyes twinkling like a fucking Disney prince and that bashful smile still clinging on the corners of his lips.

Harry raised his eyebrows expectantly, and waited a few seconds.

“Zayn Malik, do I really need to ask what’s going on between you and Liam Payne or are you going to tell me on your own accord.”

Zayn knew Harry was teasing him. It was all just banter.

Disney boy chuckled, playing with the bracelet clasped around his thin wrist. “I don’t really know, we texted each other happy Christmas ‘n all that shit and then we sort of continued texting the whole break, and now we’re somewhere in the middle I reckon, I really like him though, he’s nice and polite and a good kisser,” he confessed, mumbling the last part in hopes that Harry wouldn’t catch them but Harry did, he caught them like a lion would to his prey.

“And why are you only telling me this now?” replied Harry, a hand splayed on his heart and mocking feeling hurt.

“Because it happened last night and you,” pointing a finger at Harry, “where busy last night, don’t think for a second that I don’t know who occupied this side of the bed last night, dimples.”

Harry blushed at that, and had to stir his mind away from thinking about Louis.

“I’ve got to talk to him actually, gonna tell him Zayn,” Harry said, voice deep and serious and fixed, “Gonna tell him everything.”

Zayn crawled to Harry and enveloped him in tight hug, patting him on the back. The familiar faint smell of smoke calms his jiggling nerves.

“Best thing to do mate.”

Zayn left the room and Harry was alone once again. He opened the story he was writing and looked over it, re arranging words and commas and what not.

Around a quarter past two, Harry’s phone dinged with a message. He swiped the message Niall sent him asking him if he wanted to go out tonight. He looked over at the small white board where he writes all of his homework down and it looked fairly empty. He thumbed down a yes and a drinking emoji. He was happy and free because everything was starting to fall into place and with freedom, books, flowers, and the moon, who could not be happy?

**

As the night got darker, the music got louder and they got drunker. They were already somewhat drunk when they arrived to the club, going over to Niall’s and Louis’ and pouring shots after shots after shots, so it didn’t take too much to get them proper drunk even though the short walk from the apartments to the bar sobered them a bit. A smidgen but alas. They we’re having a good time, an incredible time in fact, dancing and laughing and snapping pictures on their phones.

Harry felt hands lacing with his own, and when he looked back he saw Louis, grinning like a madman.

And then he was being twirled. Twirled.

Louis was twirling him like a ballerina in the middle of a club.

When he came to a stop, his head was spinning with motion and liquor and he was laughing so hard that he was about to trip down, but there were strong hands around his waist keeping him up, pulling him closer to them, and fitting nicely in the little curve of his sides.

Louis was already looking down when Harry looked up, he was telling him something because his thin, entrancing lips, were moving. Louis have beautiful lips. Louis tightened his embrace, and repeated his words louder this time, his lips near Harry’s ear so he can hear him this time.

“Curly, are you alright?” asked Louis, concern lacing his voice.

Harry held onto Louis’ shoulder with one hand, the other was pressed to his forehead, “I feel very dizzy,” he croaked out, lying his head on Louis’ shoulder and closing his eyes.

Louis kept his hands around his middle, thumb swirling patterns in his shirt, “Let’s go outside, fresh air, yeah?” He told the other guys that they were going outside, Zayn and Niall both raised their eyebrows, while the others voiced their concerns.

They sat down on some random steps once outside, side by side, thighs grazing and shoulders touching. Harry had his head bent down between his knees and his arms crossed in front of them. Louis was looking up at the glittering sky, elbows resting on his knees.

“I feel sick.”

“Are you going to throw up?” Louis asked him, rubbing his back gently.

“I don’t think so,” Harry sighed, head still spinning and liquor still twisting in his veins. He pulled his head up looking at Louis, flickering his eyes down to his lips, but then quickly looking back up. He wanted to kiss him, he just wanted to grab his neck and kiss him and tell him what he feels, tell him how he makes him feel whenever he’s around. Tell him how he could only write about blue eyes and sharp cheekbones and nothing else since he saw him that day in the coffee shop.

Louis returned his stare to the sky and leaned back a bit, “The sky is so beautiful, curly. Look at the stars, how shiny and bright and how far away they are.”

Harry didn’t say anything, just continued to stare at his lips, those fucking _posed_ lips, as they curled in every word.

“You’re so beautiful, so beautiful that the sun tries to compete with you in the day and the stars tries to out shine you at night,” Harry said, the words ripping from his throat and freeing themselves in the cold January air.

Louis’ eyes bore into Harry’s. Burned his fucking soul, ignited every fibre of his body with adrenaline and fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He fucked up didn’t he? Saying that, what the fuck was he thinking, he’s too drunk, too fucking drunk. _God_.

Louis’ still looking at him. Lips parted, eyes wide and there’s something in there, something that’s too big to be identified but it’s _there_. Looking at him.

Unthinkingly, blindly, Louis brought his hand slowly to Harry’s face, thumb pressing in the soft ruby pillows of Harry’s lips, eyes never leaving Harry’s.

Harry was going to combust, he was going to fucking combust with all of the emotions going through him.

And then, suddenly, Louis brought his other hand to the other side of the face and pulling Harry’s face to his as he lunged at him, lips colliding in the middle, beautifully, unbreakingly. 

And then it clicks. They kiss like they’ve kissed forever and they align like a key in a lock. Harry is happy. So fucking happy.

They continued to kiss and breathe each other’s air, and Harry clutched on Louis’ neck, holding on so firm but yet gentle, soft. Because this is what it feels like to be whole.

They finally broke apart, Louis warm and soft and still cradling Harry’s face between his hands and he looks calmer and softer than he’s ever been.

“You kissed me,” Harry whispered, looking at Louis.

“I did,” he confirmed, pressing his lips to Harry’s again and breaking away.

Harry leaned forward, pressed his face gently to Louis’ side just because. Just nuzzles into him like a kitten, just breathes him in, just stays there. Louis could feel Harry’s breathing, could feel him nuzzling his head deeper in his chest, could feel him breathe him in.

*

They didn’t go back to the club, instead they walked back to Harry’s apartment.

They got under the covers, finding themselves twined with each other almost immediately and between the silence and the gentle press of their kisses they both knew that this felt perfect, felt like it could last forever. 

Through the silence and the expressions they had the deepest conversation.

Reassurance flooded their veins as they held on to each other because it felt more perfect then anything in the world.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Songs that also inspired the story :-
> 
> 'Cold Coffee' - Ed Sheeran (Harry meeting Louis in the coffee shop)  
> 'Shades of Cool' -Lana Del Rey (The song that describes Zayn)  
> 'Between Bars' - Elliot Smith (First partying scene)  
> 'Bumper Cars' - Alex & Sierra (The lyrics of the Song)
> 
> Thank you for reading! x


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